


Love and Other Drugs

by FuturistForeverist



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Death, Gore, M/M, Murder, Reference to assailant's previous assault crimes, Use of Date Rape Drugs, Vomit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2686568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuturistForeverist/pseuds/FuturistForeverist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are moments when we must think on our feet while helping others find their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seamless

     When one arrives into a situation where they are the newcomer to an established group, it is generally advised for one to adapt as best they can in order to blend in and settle into a place of acceptance. Whether it be attending a formal soiree’ to impress one another with your best clothes and most elegant conversation or something decidedly less so and typically involving a dimly lit and charmingly grimy pub while exchanging off-color jokes over well drinks, the bonding ritual is much the same. We gather, we dine, we imbibe, and we live. Or rather, we hope for things to occur in that order and, depending upon the variables of drink and topic and company, we get a wide assortment of return upon our investments.

And then, every so often, someone upends the order of things and one must think on their feet while helping someone back onto their own.

\- - - - - -

     Henry gently shoulders his way through the Friday night crowd at Sullivan’s as he meanders toward the sound of Detective Martinez’ laugh, which tends to be rare in his ears but clear and distinguishable. Sure enough she spies the stiff shoulders and knitted brows of a class A fop trying to slum it and only halfway resigned to the notion. She peers past Lieutenant Reece and waves him over but her call to him is lost in the din. Lucas, however, comes loud and clear. For the second time in a row he’s quick to clap poor Henry in a swift and well-intended hug and just as quick to flinch away, only now reminding himself of Henry’s peculiar, one-way bubble. It seems that Henry has braced himself for the inevitability of it (and isn’t sporting fresh soreness from a run-in with a maniac in a fully-kitted BDSM parlor but that’s a minor nuance) and the flinch is more subtle, and not accompanied with a sarcastic rebuttal. This time. The lovable beanpole means well, and an excess of physical affection is hardly the worst burden to bear.  
     “So. Henry. ‘Nother murder in the books, huh?” Detective Hanson says while speaking into his whiskey glass. “To think these guys were so quick to extol the virtue of jazz coming from what you feel, and here they are killing each other over it.”  
     "To be fair,” Henry interjects, “when one’s greatest passion is their source of income or, more often, cause for lack of it, things can get rather heated, and “6 AM” was not only a lucrative ballad financially but quite the influential track on the industry, I’ve come to understand.”  
     “Cool motive. Still murder.” Hanson replies, earning a gleeful yelp from Lucas, who lunges forward over the table while clutching his bottle of some pithy-looking IPA.  
     “I LOVE that show. Did you see the one with the red track suit?!”  
     Hanson’s calm gaze seems to have been sparked into a more lively energy as his own elbows both rest onto the table and lift him straighter so they can carry on. “Oh, yeah! And the pimp chain?”  
     “Yeah, NOT one of his better looks. Someone somewhere decided that was something to wear. On purpose. Remind me nothing’s worth going to Jersey. Okay, one thing. I DID snag a hard-to-find edition of Balthazar’s Blade at a comic shop there… but I thought I was gonna get mugged pretty much the whole time.”  
     Hanson snorts and Jo barely manages to avoid the slosh of whiskey threatening to jump ship from his glass. “And that’s different from your neighborhood how?!”  
     “Ugh. Fact.” With that Lucas settles back onto his chair. “Hey, it’s what I can afford. When something less stabby opens up in my price range, I’m SO there.”  
     Through the cluster of half-engaged players at the pool table nearby comes an uncommonly handsome blond with eyes as dark as the pint of stout in his grip. He heads straight for Lucas, making contact with a gentle touch to the shoulder and sidling between him and Henry, who leans back from an unmanned elbow. “I’m SO sorry to butt in,” He begins with a honeyed tone, “But I overheard you saying something about Balthazar’s Blade. “  
     Aaand there goes Lucas with a sudden and wide grin. This man is neither poorly groomed nor socially awkward, and has brought up comic books. A rare find indeed. While Lucas turns to look up, Henry nods toward the stranger and behind his back with a little smirk. Oh, look, our darling weirdo has found his people. He’s made the expression toward Jo, who reciprocates with raised eyebrows and a sip of her beer that seems to be a toast to her colleague’s good fortunes. The kid needs all of the social interaction he can get since most of his conversations are generally mumbling to slightly chilled corpses. He’s too young to be so resigned to the isolation of their grisly work just yet.  
     “Uh, yeah! I was just telling them about braving Jersey to pick up a copy of Thrayne’s Sting. That arc was just nuts from start to finish. You read it?”  
     “No, not yet, man. I was on the fence.” By his tone he’s giving Lucas the opportunity to elaborate and from what Jo can see, he’s smiling with a slow blink and taking a languid sip form his pint.  
     Lucas straightens, releasing his beer in order to properly gesticulate his points. “You have to! It’s where we meet Gandor and Zeff! Without them Balthazar never would have gone through the River Run marketplace and found the Talisman of Thade! Dude. Do yourself the favor. READ it.”  
     The newcomer gulps and nods. “Tell you what. Looks like you’re on the tail end of that beer. I buy you a drink and you tell me what I need to know to catch up.”  
     At this point Lucas is unsure of the protocols of being welcome by, yes, two different parties, and his eyes dart about for reassurance, which the table’s denizens are all too happy to provide. Jo speaks on their behalf with a quick shoo-shoo motion of her free hand.  
     “Go. We’ll be here a while. Do your thing.”  
     “Well, then, that must be my sign that they’re pawning me off on you.”  
     “Hey, fine by me.” He chuckles with a light hand resting between Lucas’ shoulders as they wade to the bar and claim two free stools.  
     “Would’ju look at that. Seems like Wahl found a playmate. Good for him.” Says Hanson as the table nods.  
     “Least ONE of us is branching out.” Jo adds. The conversation returns to the peculiarities of their recent case until Reece jabs Martinez with her elbow.  
     “Jo. Look. Our boy might be in deeper than he thought.”  
     The ladies both peer over to Lucas and the handsome stranger is not only not scared off by the prattling of a comic geek set free of his leash, but rapt. However, his eyes seem to be looking Lucas over as he speaks, tracing his jawline and ear in particular. Only when making eye contact does he seem to blink, peering up through his eyebrows. “I know that look.” Purrs Lieu. Jo makes the connection a moment later.  
     “Oh, nooooo.” The ladies share coy grins and keep their gazes on the stranger, whose body language seems to slide deeper into familiarity as he takes measured inches from the gap between them. “Yeah, he’ll be back at the table in five.”  
     A barback at Henry’s side has come for his order and to check for identification in the meantime and the doctor complies pleasantly. One never tires of being carded when they’ve seen at least two centuries. “Cognac, please. Your oldest. Now why do you say that, Detective?”  
     “That guy’s body language? He doesn’t give a rip about comics. He was looking for an in. He lets Lucas babble some of the helium out of his head, comes off as a great listener, ponies up for a drink… he’s sweet on the kid. Only, tough nuts for him. Lucas doesn’t bat for the same team.”  
     “I beg your pardon, Detective, but I doubt that Lucas is engaged in any physical sport, given his proclivities toward his “graphic novels” and the like. With his slender arms and tall build, batting would suit him ill. A swimmer, perhaps, but not a batter.”  
     “Henry.” Lieu cuts in dryly. “She’s saying Lucas is straight and his new friend there is out of luck.”  
     Henry’s brows furrow, then release as the connection is made. “AH. I see. A metaphor. Yes. You’ll have to forgive me. It’s a bit loud in here.” [And I’ve already made mention that I’m more of a cricket man if anything but that is hardly here or there.]  
     “And you’re not a sportsman yourself.” Jo adds. To that, Henry must concede.  
     “Moreso in my youth but as it currently stands, my sports are more of the cerebral variety. The mental gymnastics of unraveling the cunning deeds of our fellow New Yorkers is all the exertion I seek.”  
     “Now in that arena, you’re the Olympian out of all of us.” Hanson says with only the barest hint of envy. Henry gently shakes his head.  
     “More of a hobby that pays the bills than anything but I do appreciate the approval.”  
     “OOH. OOH.” Jo cuts a sip short to point back in Lucas’ direction. The stranger has been nudged to Lucas’ side or cleverly placed himself in order to appear that way, and his hand has gripped the seatback. He’s even closer and their shoulders are pressed firmly together as Lucas continues on his lecture. A drink on the rocks comes his way and they pause for a clank of glass and a little toast to one another. “Oh, yeah. He’s really going for it. Lucas is doomed.” A pretty redhead ekes in to order at the bar and nearly topples Lucas’ drink from the counter with her fussy oversized purse but the stranger is quick with a heroic catch of the glass at the last second, and only by clamping open fingers that barely cling on for dear life around the rim. No sense wasting his investment. Lucas can’t help but applaud that slick (and stupidly lucky) maneuver.  
     “Has Lucas ever mentioned dating women exclusively?” Henry asks thoughtfully.  
     “He doesn’t have a ton of dating experience but he’s only mentioned girls as far as I know.” Jo replies.  
     “Fair enough. Perhaps the poor boy just has yet to pick up on the cues. He can be rather oblivious while on his sermons.” Henry’s drink arrives and he signs for his purchase with a smile. Good cognac is always worth the price and, chances are, he’s the only one in the bar that has bought from that bottle in weeks. All the more reason to consider it his own little treat to himself for braving the throng and basking in a case neatly tidied up.  
     “Or while, you know, breathing.” Lieu adds.  
     “Touche.” Henry smiles into his glass. [Oh, yes, that is good.]  
     For some time their chatter continues, stretching from the finer points of Andy Warhol to their united agreement on the unpleasant stupidity of the Twilight franchise until Jo takes another surveying glance to a now wobbly Lucas. “That must’ve been some drink. He’s getting pretty noodly.”  
     At the chance to see six and a half feet of clumsiness when a case’s success doesn’t hinge upon it, everyone peeks over like meerkats from their burrow. Hanson empties his last sip. “Like he needed help being a dork.”  
     “Should we intervene? Who has his car keys?” asks Henry. Said keys glint from Lucas’ hip as he moves to stand, only to buckle slightly into the stranger’s side and giggle bashfully while being helped upright.  
     “Don’t worry. He’s smarter than that.” Jo replies lightly. A dork though he may be, the kid knows right from wrong when it counts. Well, donuts notwithstanding.  
     “All the same…” Henry resigns his eyes to his coworker’s well-being as he finds the men’s room and emerges soon after, reclaiming his seat. The stranger has now slid into the little crook between Lucas’ knees and is making his intentions more evident with a sultry whisper into the man’s ear, bracing both his hands on the armrests of the stool. In turn Lucas has a hand rested onto the newcomer’s wrist but it clumsily slips away and hangs at his side. The poor thing is quite past his limits and at this point Henry rises to his feet and swivels his head around the crowd at the pool table, doing his best to blend in and keep surveillance. The stranger helps Lucas to his feet, chuckling and propping him up against himself. One of Lucas’ hands paws clumsily at his chest and the stool spins him askew. Only then can Henry try to read his face over the stranger’s shoulder. There’s a pained knitting in his brow and he seems dazed. The festive wall clock advertising some mediocre lager shows a passage of a scant few minutes and with only half of his drink gone, there’s no way Lucas would already be so drunk.  
He’s not getting handsy with his suitor… he’s trying to push him away.  
Henry’s eyes go wide and he whips back toward the table, darting nimbly behind Jo. “Detective. Have you got your cuffs on you?”  
     “Henry?”  
     “Lucas has only been gone from this table for seventeen and a half minutes and his drink is not nearly empty but he can barely stand. You must come with me. NOW.”  
     Her face draws flat as all humor leaves her and they weave back into the crowd. With a quick gesture Henry directs Jo toward the pair while he himself swiftly plucks up Lucas’ abandoned glass, moving to follow. “Henry, leave the damn cognac.”  
     “Detective, this is Lucas’ glass. We must test it for drugs and fingerprints if we cannot catch them, or use it as evidence when we do.”  
     “Good point. Sneak it out. If they catch you, holler and I’ll flash my badge.”  
     In their wake, Hanson and Reece spy the pair heading briskly out and the Lieutenant snatches her coat from the seatback. “I know that walk. Something’s not right.”  
Hanson silently nods and they move to pursue.

\- - - - -

     Two silhouettes move down Barrister and turn the corner to make their way along a calmer street as one buckles repeatedly at the knees and the other hoists him up beneath the shoulder.  
“Nnnh… buh…”  
     “Hey. Baby. It’ll be okay. We’ll get you into bed. You can barely talk.”  
     Lucas lolls his head back and the buildings on all sides are a thumping blur, the chill of the night imperceptible on his increasingly numb skin. “How… y’dunno… whe… where… I… my…”  
     The stranger eases Lucas toward a sleek black sports car at the curb, moving to open the door, then turning Lucas and slamming him bellyfirst onto the hood, pinning him down with his own sober, agile weight. Until now his words have been a soothing, melodic strain, but they come now as a gravelly rasp as a hand finds Lucas’ throat in a firm show of dominance and cranks his head as far back as his slim neck will allow. “Oh, baby… I never said you were ever getting back to YOUR bed.”  
     Lucas’ veins pump icy dread as his failing muscles continue to imprison him and his eyes blink with rapid fluster. They might be watering but between the blurred, waning vision and the numbness he can’t actually tell. He can scarcely feel the teeth sinking into the side of his neck as the hand begins to constrict his windpipe, or the other hand working at the button fly of his jeans.  
     “After all… none of the others did… why the Hell should you be so special?”  
     His mind is wheezing with its last throes for his body to do something, anything to fend off the stranger’s beastly pawing but his arms betray him and hang useless and trembling as he gapes like a fish dropped onto a dock and facing its fate. He has reconciled countless case files with this grisly end but not once did he ever consider it for himself, and if he were more with it he might even dwell on the odd symmetry of it all, but muffled shouting is only adding to his stupor. There’s the glitter of a familiar watch chain vying for his attention as the world is doing such a good job of going black, and a firm thud. After that he collapses entirely and nothingness blankets him.

\- - - - -

     For the second time in as many months Henry Morgan comes to understand that pain can indeed be freeing as his fist finds the cheekbone of a target with dubious morals and the need to be halted as quickly as can be done by a man who carries no firearm. As the stranger doubles back, the detectives and Lieutenant swarm him and Henry barely catches an unconscious Lucas by the underarms before his skull can hit the curb.  
     “Lucas!” He beckons, swatting the man’s cheek with no result. “LUCAS!”  
     Nothing.  
     Jo doubles back as Hanson pins the stranger facedown onto the concrete with the Lieutenant’s callous assistance. “Henry. What’s going on? He okay?”  
     Henry sets the glass onto the sidewalk and frantically checks Lucas’ vital signs. “He’s completely blacked out but his pulse is there.” He shifts to cradle Lucas carefully and props his head up with an ear near his lips to catch the reassuring, tiny breeze of thread breath. “How did you all get here?”  
     “We pooled here in a cab. And you took your bike, right?”  
     “I did.” Henry pants. “You all get that BASTARD taken care of!” He hisses. “I’ll mind Lucas. I need your cellphone.”  
     “Yeah. Call a cab. I’ll foot the bill.” Jo keeps her gun trained as a precaution and pulls her phone from her pocket, placing it in Henry’s waiting hand.  
     “There’s no need for that, Detective. I’ve got someone closer. Please. Take care of him. I’ll keep Lucas in good care. You have my word.” There is a potent honesty in his inky black eyes and Jo nods, heading toward the others. Henry agitatedly waits for her to leave his earshot and begins with some difficulty to operate her phone. At last, a few blocks away, Abe’s phone buzzes in his pocket. The din of the bowling alley nearly drowns it out but he tucks himself away behind a beam.  
     “Abe’s Antiques. Unfortunately we are closed for the evening but our hours are-”  
     “Abraham! It’s Henry! I’ve borrowed Detective Martinez’ telephone.” Once he’s shouted past the faint street sounds around himself he struggles to keep calm, but the tendons rippling along his arm as he adjusts the cell phone are expressing his urge to panic plenty. Dozens of tragedies have taught him the virtue of an even speaking tone while all is in a shambles around him, if only for his own peace at the moment. Lucas will wake, surely, and will soldier on, but it’s a familiar face and frame slouched against his person and that shakes Henry even now. Lucas isn’t just a coworker, he’s the beginnings of their story as partners in the struggle to out the shadows of humanity’s darkest motives. The virtue of solitude as at once its weakness; there is no bonding. There is less richness but also no personal loss.  
     “So you SORT of joined the twenty-first century. Mazel tov. I’m in a league game here!”  
     “My coworker Lucas has been drugged at a bar. We must get him seen to immediately.”  
     The annoyance in Abe’s etched features drops away and he clutches the phone with more intent. “What, you mean that sweet weird kid with the comics?”  
     “Yes! And he’s blacked out. I need you to get to the corner of Barrister and Viceroy. NOW.”  
     “I’m on my way.” He pockets his phone and turns to a fellow bowler in a rival shirt. “Well, Goldman, you old coot, your record still stands. Personal emergency.” Without waiting for a reply he dashes toward the exit. 

\- - - - -

     “Andrew Wilhelm. You have the right to remain silent.” Jo begins after having removed the stranger’s wallet to read his drivers’ license. Half a block away Henry hoists Lucas farther upright into his chest and nestles a fatherly little kiss into his hair while stroking his head. [Hm. Dr. Morgan is human somewhere in there after all. Good to know.]  
     “I’ve got you, Lucas. I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He chants in a fretting mantra. Lucas surely can’t see through his eyelids but Henry feels the need to keep the man’s face shielded into his chest nonetheless while he himself can scarcely look away from the arrest, keeping a falcon’s gaze out for any attempts by the assailant to flee or cause more trouble. “He can’t harm you now. I’ve got you.” From the far end of Barrister come the wailing sirens of a squad car and Hanson drags Wilhelm to his feet. The warmth is gone from the stranger’s gaze as he leers toward Henry and Lucas.  
     “And here I thought someone so desperate for acceptance would be glad to finally get laid, huh?” He says with a snort. Jo relishes every second as she shoves him by his head into the backseat, toppling him onto his side and hovering headfirst through the door.  
     “My colleague is a better man than you ever could have been. You’re the one that depends on lies and drugs to get your kicks.” With that she slams the door and settles herself into the front seat while a second squad car arrives for Hanson and Reece and, on its tail, Abe’s sedan. With the glow of those familiar headlights Henry rises to a knee and only with great toil can he bring Lucas anywhere near standing but Abe, surprisingly quick on his feet for a septuagenarian, dashes out in his festive Ten-Pin Doozies shirt in a garish shade of teal.  
     “Oh, man. Lookit him. Poor thing.”  
     “Yes, and I’m afraid he’s rather heavy, being limp. Get beneath his other arm.”  
     Abe complies as they each scoop up one of Lucas’ legs and head to the car. “Where’s the closest hospital? The clinics are closed, right?”  
     “There’s nothing their diagnoses would hold that I don’t already know. Home. Quickly.”  
     “You got it.”  
     They reach the main streets swiftly but traffic is anything but sparse on a party night. Henry lays Lucas out flat on his side and makes a wadded jacket pillow for the head on his lap. “On his side lest he vomit and asphyxiate… keeps the airway clear…” He whispers to nobody.  
     Abe’s voice comes with solemnity from the driver’s seat. “I don’t have any water or anything.”  
     “He’s passed out. Trying to make him drink would only choke him. No, all that will benefit him at this point is a pillow and a babysitter.”  
     “So… long night?”  
     Henry palms his hair back and replies with a grave nod in the rear-view mirror. “I’m afraid so.”

\- - - - -

     “So what the Hell happened?” Asks Abe as he fusses with the apartment keys while Henry muscles Lucas from the car and braces himself for a fireman’s carry up the stairs.  
     “A stranger chatted him up, bought him a drink, and in minutes he had reverted to a liquid state. Detective Martinez and I -hooooyouareaHEAVYone- followed them out and the man had Lucas pinned against a car… and the only thing stopping him from his nefarious scheme was my now throbbing fist.” He staggers across the street, moving twice his weight with some to spare, and gratefully sinks to a knee the instant Abe can help him. In minutes Lucas is arranged bellyfirst on the sofa, arm dangling with fingertips dipping into the plush carpeting below like a beige puddle, and Abe arrives with the mop pail and a water glass.  
     “You hold tight. I can see where this is headed. I’ll brew up some coffee.”  
     “Yes. THANK you, Abraham.” Henry nurses a twinge in his lumbar but it resets with a mighty crack, much to his satisfaction, then heads to the linen closet and produces two blankets. “And perhaps something to eat, if you don’t mind. I should like to keep my vigil as long as can be done.”  
     “Sorry about your friend, there. You catch the guy?”  
     “Yes… he was fool enough to try his tricks with our entire department at one table and didn’t get far. I suspect Jo had a grand time cramming him into that squad car after he had the nerve to gloat at me about it all. She will see him hanged and flayed if the gets her way and I’m nearly wont to let her.”  
     “She’s a pretty little tempest, that one.”  
     Henry sets one blanket aside and drapes the other along Lucas, then sees to unlacing sneakers from feet that hang clear over the arm as replies with a reverent and honestly charmed huff. “Oh, yes, and one must love her for it.” With each generation women are seeing more and more of their own durability and wisdom, and it’s one of the shows of time’s march he’s perfectly happy to observe and even advance when he can.  
     The coffee pot clanks into the brewer and Abe heads to the fridge. “We got some meatloaf. Meatloaf sandwich?”  
     Henry primly sets the shoes beside the sofa and nods. “Perfectly fine, yes. Thank you. For… all of this.” His eyes, meanwhile, silently size up Lucas’ shoes against those on his own, smaller feet for his own amusement. [Size thirteen. And I’m eleven. Higher-end athletic shoes… kept nicely cleaned, save for that miniscule splatter on the side. Blood from the lab, perhaps.]  
     “Hey, my old man keeps interesting company. What’s that noise about getting old enough to bail your parents out of a few scrapes and pay ‘em back?”  
     “Very poetic. I do seem to recall many a night like this with you in his place. Bogeyman nightmares… colic… and baby’s first bender.”  
     “Now THAT was a good night.”  
     Henry bellows a hearty laugh and it relieves him to be calm enough to do so. “Your cheek was red from several pretty women turning you down!”  
     “Hey, that was the first night I was brave enough to try. Man, Suzy Richenbacher. What a dish.”  
     “Yes, that’s quite enough of that.” He prods the record player from its own sleep and the room echoes with gentle, classical music while Abe works and he himself settles into his nearby recliner. “I have been putting off this book for too long. Now seems as good a time as any to do it justice, hm?” Once his blanket is settled he tugs a thick tome from the side table and seeks out the bookmark. “Is it too late to return to your game?” He asks with the resignation of a man who sadly knows the answer. “Of course it is. I’m so sorry to have bothered you, Abraham… but I knew you would be closer.”  
     “Ah. Fuhgeddabouddit. What’re kids for, huh? Besides… with your two-hundred-year-old back… you needed the lifting help.” He enters with Henry’s dinner and coffee, then looks back to Lucas, who is oddly motionless save for the shallow rise and fall of his back.  
     “A side effect of the drug, I’m afraid… he’s not so much asleep as in a helpless stasis until the drugs are burned off. All the more reason I’ll be out here tonight.”  
     “If it’s alright with you I think I’ll turn in. You need anything, though, I’m here.”  
     “I know.” Henry nods. “And for that… I am eternally grateful.”  
     Abe gives Henry’s hand a squeeze, then pats Lucas softly on a shoulder before padding off down the hall.  
     “And so… the vigil begins.” Hums Henry.

\- - - - -

     As good as his intentions may be, Henry’s tired eyes are beginning to cross and lose focus after being at their work so long. The current paragraph has repeatedly been taken into and then slid back out of his mind a dozen times like a hamster never quite gaining footing in its wheel. The record player crackles at the end of its last track and clicks off, tapering into nothing while the clock ticks and informs him of the wee hour. Perhaps I’ll just… rest my eyes… he fibs to himself. Just a brief respite to refresh myself and then back I’ll go. His eyelids lower dreamily and his hands cross on top of the splayed book. Yes. There we are. We’ll just give the old wind-up key a few turns and be right as rain.  
     A resonating thud and ringing crash shatter the calm and a jagged bolt of adrenaline strikes through him. The exhaustion and weight in his eyelids evaporate entirely and give way to panic. Lucas has rolled off of the sofa and racked his arm on the mop pail but remains passed out. “LUCAS!” Henry yelps. He surveys his guest for injuries and, finding none, he fills and empties with a mighty sigh, patting Lucas’ belly a bit. “I’m too old for a scare like that, young man.” And back up he goes. Not without huffing and puffing and some sliding of the sofa but he is eventually righted. Henry returns to his chair and hones back in on the book. Not how I had planned to revive myself but even in his fragile state Lucas seems ready to aid me as always. He shifts a little, fluffs the pillow at his back, rubs his temples, and raps on his own skull. Yes. Back to the reading. Now how was I situated? No… the armrest is cold… my arm wasn’t there… but it feels so odd on my lap. Something is amiss. For some time he squirms and shifts but his concentration is entirely broken and the book thumps shut. “Well, then. No better time to return my dishes.” On his way back he turns out a few unnecessary lights and adjusts the window shades, then turns to give Lucas another once-over.  
     “No swelling… bruising… no blood… everything’s as it should be. Good.”  
     Be that as it may, he refuses to go to his bed but his armchair has seen its share of him. As his eyes shift to Lucas’ short, dense eyelashes and wait for them to flicker, he recalls a much smaller roommate rapping at his bedroom door a dozen lifetimes ago.

     “Dad?” Little feet tilted inward as toes poked sheepishly from Lone Ranger pajamas outside the bedroom door.  
     “Abe…raham…” Henry’s voice came in a groggy rumble. He nearly passed back out but sniffling cued him to the need to rise. “Coming… yes… coming.” The door opened and Abe’s reddened eyes peered up at him from behind a love-worn teddy bear. Henry raked a hand through his hair and lowered to a knee. “What’s wrong, Little Ranger?” He sighed with an obliging nod.  
     “The… the fire… I had the fire dream again.” He mumbled through the bear’s stuffing.  
     The dream in question recalled a house fire scare from the year before when Abraham had toppled an oil lamp and caught the curtain ablaze, and had manifested itself as a stubborn nightmare that burrowed resolutely into the boy’s slumbering mind for a lengthy stay. Henry nodded again and hoisted Abraham onto a hip.  
     “Alright, Little Ranger. We’ve got room for one more.”  
     “Henry, darling? What is it?” Abigail chirped from her pillow.  
     “Our little man has had a nightmare and needs some reassurance.”  
     Her smile warmed the dark even when unseen. “Between your big, safe arms and Mummy’s kisses I think we’ve got things under control, hm?”  
     The boy tunneled into the blankets between Henry and Abigail, who surrounded him in their arms and gave each other a little goodnight kiss over his head.  
     “I’m sorry, Dad.”  
     “Now, what’ve I told you about bad dreams, Abraham?” Henry demanded gently.  
     “You’ll always have a hug ready for me.”  
     “That’s right. Now shush and have some nicer dreams, hm?”  
     “Or else Mummy will put on fresh lipstick and smother that whole handsome face in kisses.”  
     Abraham yelped and tunneled farther as Henry and Abigail joined in a soft giggle and the three settled back in. 

     Decades later, Henry’s job is a litany of bad dreams becoming all too real and, though Lucas cannot ask for help, there is something to be said for a bit of human connection. With cautious hands he lifts Lucas’ head and sits himself beneath it as he had in the car. Ordinarily he must crane his neck up to meet his coworker’s eye level but here, on his lap, Lucas seems to strangely small and childlike. “No more of this… falling business.” He chides. With that he turns off the lamp on the side table as the last of the light is whisked away, and rests his head back against the couch. His eyes close and an idle hand starts to fiddle with Lucas’ ear, something he used to do to calm a fretful Abraham as a much smaller boy, until he too drops off. “Until the morning.” He mouths before sleep claims him.


	2. Split

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas sees his narrowly avoided fate face-to-face.

     THUD.

     THUD-THUD.

     THUD-THUD.

     Thud-thud.

     Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. 

     “Nnn.”

     Late morning has lightened the room and, off to the side, Abe sits quietly and skims the newspaper over a cup of coffee. Henry makes a faint snore every so often and Lucas has been silent but his fingers have begun to quiver against the carpet. His hanging arm makes a small jerking flinch.  
     “Mmnnn.”  
     Abe’s furry eyebrows rise a bit above the frames of his reading glasses. “Sleeping Beauty awakens? I’m not kissing you, kid.”  
     “Ngnn.”  
     In a smoky, swirling void a tiny voice speaks in murmurs that gradually clear.  
     “… of the others…”  
     “Nnn.”  
     “… never said you…”  
     His arm flinches again. His eyebrows furrow. His breathing quickens.  
     “… never said… ever getting back… YOUR bed.”  
     “Pluh…”  
     “None of the others did…”  
     Abe’s newspaper buckles backward in his hands and he leans toward the living room in his chair.  
     There’s hot breath on one cheek and cold steel against the other. Darkness. Heaviness on his chest. It’s hard to breathe against this weight. It’s almost crushing but warmth seeps through the fabric of his shirt. His throat is tight. His neck aches. “Oh, baby… I never said you were ever getting back to YOUR bed.”  
     “Please… stop…”  
     “NOT good.” Grunts Abe as he gets to his feet.  
     “After all… none of the others did… why the Hell should you be so special?”  
     “No… please-” Lucas whimpers halfway through his nose, gulping at his dry throat and working against lank limbs to push himself off of the car he’s being crushed against.  
     Abe kneels to see Lucas’ eye level and rests a hand on his slender shoulder. “Hey. Kiddo. You’re having a bad dream. You gotta wake up. I promise you’re safe.” He glances to the miraculously still-sleeping Henry. “You got a good guy in your corner.”  
     All that registers with Lucas is a hand on his shoulder in a show of more restrictive force. The ice water fills his veins again and his entire body convulses in a hail of desperate swats and kicks. “LEMME GO! GET OFF ME! PLEASE! SOMEBODY!” An elbow barely misses Abe’s jaw, and only because he’s awake to see it coming. As for Henry’s diaphragm and a frantic knee the contact is both unmistakable and agonizing as Henry is throttled into consciousness by his own smothering gasps and he yanks at the sofa arm on instinct.  
     “GHHHGHG-… A-…” He gags, miming frantically to Abe to help subdue Lucas. Unfortunately this only prompts further thrashing and he rolls off of the sofa, crash-landing onto his stomach. In a panic Abe swats him upside the head with one hand and yanks away the mop pail from harm’s way in the other.  
     Henry’s eyes bulge with concern as he gains composure enough to wring all of the air from his lungs and reset his diaphragm. After all, it’s time to yell about important things. “ABRAHAM! You can’t just go pummeling the poor boy!”  
     The poor boy in question has gone instantly calmer, whimpering with glazed eyes cheek-first in the carpet. “Please… no…”  
     “He was gonna hurt himself! What was I supposed to do? Do you SEE any blood?!”  
     “Oh, hush. Back up. Backupbackupbackup.” Abe obeys and scoots away on his knees to allow the doctor his space.  
     “Whuh…” He is belly down on a floor. This is not his floor. This is not his anything. And some strange man is kneeling by his head. He is definitely not home. There are two male voices discussing what to do with him and he hears that he has been hit. Terror settles onto him like a thorny blanket and his eyes instantly prickle with tears. He was with his coworkers only moments ago. If anyone can figure out how to combat whatever he’s been drugged with, it’s Henry. His knowledge of poisons and chemical compounds is unparalleled. When it comes to the notion of potentially being taken against his will to God knows where, for whatever reason his quickest fret past his own safety is how he couldn’t bear the idea of never seeing the doctor’s face or hear his charmingly macabre asides again. “He… Henry… help…”  
     “Kiddo. Hey. You in there?” Abe’s query is only met with more whimpering. “Oh, no. C’mon. You’re fine. We’ve got you.”  
     Henry’s belly flutters him into a quick catch-breath but he keeps himself controlled. “Lucas.” Thanks to the blow to his stomach his voice is eerie and unfamiliar but he rubs a gentle circuit from Lucas’ neck to the small of his back along the pilled cotton of his tee.  
     He finds his strength and turns himself onto his back, ready to deliver whatever feeble blows he can. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” The righteous rage and fear in his expression sink away quickly as he braces for the blond stranger but is met with a more familiar blurry outline and chestnut hair in waves neatly trimmed short.  
     “I’ll have you know my mother was a saint, young man.” Henry gently scolds; his native tongue and most recognizable mode of operation.  
     The threatened tears from earlier trickle freely along Lucas’ temples and inch toward the floor, now a mixture of the terror from before and the relief of the moment while his eyes stare through the ceiling. His hands are still clumsy with tremors as he finds the doctor’s face with them. Cool cheeks and gritty stubble greet his fingers. “He…Henry?”  
     Henry replies with a nod and rakes a light pass of fingertips through Lucas’ sandy hair. “Yes, Lucas. You’re quite safe with me in my home. You have my word.”  
     Which means the stranger is gone and Lucas can’t see him, and that is chilling to the core. “Where… where is he?! He held me down-… is he here?” He yanks his hands away and tries to raise himself up by the elbows while his vision steadily clears but he isn’t quite agile enough at the moment and begins to slip. Abe swiftly tucks an arm beneath his shoulders and Henry moves to catch his head and they work together to cautiously sit him up, sharing a worried glance between them as Henry leans him against the front of the sofa. He moves to kneel before him and takes a pale, clammy hand in his. Long and angular fingers waver noticeably to the touch.  
     “Lucas. Can you see me? Can you see my eyes?”  
     “Y-yeah. You’re kind of blurry.”  
     “Your pupils are quite wide so that is to be expected. You are likely frightened and concerned for your safety so I need you to listen to me. Last night, the stranger at the bar drugged your drink. He pinned you to a car hood and was attempting to…” The topic is never easy but he’s not delivering the news to an unknown face related to one of his case file victims. This is a boy not unlike a precocious youngster that is now only an echo in his elderly son’s eyes. “to… assault you.”  
     Lucas nods and draws a deep breath, feeling at his neck with his free hand. “He tried to choke me. I woke up smothered by something heavy. Choking. He was… he was talking to me. I can’t remember but it was something terrifying. I trusted him and I remember feeling betrayed.”  
     “Yes… well, unluckily for him we were all there.”  
     “How did… I get here?”  
     At that Henry frees his hand and displays reddened knuckles while sporting only a gentle hint of smugness in a smirk. “I stopped him… in the face.”  
     “You hit him?!”  
     “He was at a point of no return and I had no gun, so I did what I had to do.” A switch is flipped in his head and he turns to Abe. “What I had to do… good heavens, I must be awfully late to work, I ought to have clocked in by eight-”  
     “I called the precinct. You’re both off the hook. Jo was with the guy all night working him over so it sounds like she’s got the day off to catch up on her sleep, too.”  
     Henry’s shoulders slouch with relief. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”  
     “No, you can, and in great detail. You’re good with the talking. But focus on the young one here.”  
     “Ah-… yes. Forgive me. Detectives Martinez and Hanson apprehended him swiftly and the Lieutenant seemed quite pleased to help pin him down. He was a callous, cold brute when he saw me holding you and while it is in poor form to wish harm on others I certainly hope Jo had her fun with him on your behalf.” He sinks into a rumbly grit near the end and gives Lucas’ hand a rub before releasing it and returning his focus again. “They took him in and I brought you straight here.”  
     “Where he stayed up almost all night to keep an eye on you.”  
     Already sweet and warm, Lucas’ eyes are endearingly dark from his pupils still struggling to contract. “You… you did?”  
     “I did. Unfortunately even I needed sleep and I did doze off but I was right by your side to be on first alert when you woke. I did not, however, think it would be quite as much of a fuss as it was, but you were certainly entitled to panic.”  
     Lucas’ eyes drift down to his lap. “How… how far did he get?”  
     “From what I could see, not very far. We were only seconds behind him. He tried to exert his dominance on you rather than make a swift retreat and that was his undoing. I am so very glad he was that stupid.”  
     “Me too, I guess… so… I’m at your place?” His aura shifts from bashful to fascinated as he begins to survey his surroundings. There are lovely antiques in a somewhat artistic clutter that gives the place its own warmth. Plenty of people collect and display vintage collectibles but here they feel more like they’ve been kept by someone who genuinely fits better in a bygone time and keeps them for their practicality, not just something pretty to display, lovely though they are.  
     “My home sweet home. You’ll have to forgive me for placing you here. I had obvious apprehensions with putting you in my actual bed. Unseemly connotations… concerns with vomit, et cetera. So this is the only place you went.” His eyes hint to the table and Abe retrieves the water glass to offer it. “And now that you’re awake, you really ought to drink some water. I’ll start on something for you to eat.”  
     “Meh. I’ve got it. You just give him a checkup and keep him company. You both need to refuel.”  
     “I’m sorry… who are you? Sir?” As he cranes his neck to follow Abe with his eyes Henry looms closer to inspect the rough marks at his throat and gently tilts his head upward, beginning a once-over.  
     “Uh… my name’s Abe. I’m-…”  
     [Not this rigmarole again. Oy vey.]  
     “He’s my only family here and came to our rescue in his gleaming BMW chariot last night, sacrificing a VERY important league ten-pin game in the process.”  
     “Bowling. Just call it bowling. You make it sound so lame.” Abe chides.  
     “Yes, yes, yes. Bowling. Because we mustn’t forget how the bowl factors into the gameplay absolutely nowhere.” His sarcasm is fittingly dry for an Englishman but not without its playfulness while he runs his fingers along Lucas’ scalp to check for swelling or welts.  
     “I’ve explained the name to you a dozen times. Also… find me the cricket in Cricket. Anyway, back in the day, they-”  
     “Ugh. Abraham, please don’t bore me to sleep with your doddering lecture. I’m conducting an examination.” He shoots Lucas a cute half-smile, glad to see some faint lightness returning to him, and rises to his feet. “I’ll need you to sit on the Davenport if you can, while I fetch my bag. And brush my teeth. Please, pardon me.”  
     “Father-son bickering always bridges the gap pretty universally, huh?”  
     [Well… he’s not wrong. Close enough.]  
     Lucas settles onto the cushions and starts to look around again. “At least you two get to talk enough to bicker. My old man wanted a football star and he got a nerd with arms like chopsticks and the brawny resilience of a hard-boiled egg. He gave up on talking to me pretty early.”  
     “Meh. Some fathers can be dopes.” Replies Abe. “You like eggs? Scrambled? Poached?”  
     “It’s not poaching if they’re always in season, right?” [PLEASE let that be funny. Henry’s hard enough to impress. I imagine his dad is a brick wall.]  
     “Hn. I like you. You make my kind’a jokes. Relax, Kiddo. You’re safe and sound and Henry’s a good babysitter. Anyway. Eggs.”  
     “Uh… can you do the runny yolks with the white cooked?”  
     “My boy, they call that over medium and, not to brag, but I egg-cel at those.”  
     “Then that sounds… egg…cellent… to me.” Gulp. “Uh… thank you. Sir.”  
     The salt-and-pepper caterpillars of Abe’s eyebrows rise slightly as he rummages the refrigerator. “You like working with Henry?”  
     “Oh, yeah. He’s… he’s great. He’s a little old-fashioned… but a class act.”  
     From off in the distance comes old-fashioned and classy mouthwash gargling to punctuate Lucas’ sentiments.  
     “And… a bit eccentric.”  
     “If I recall correctly he’s said similar about you. The… egg-centricities.”  
     “If that’s all he’s said he’s being really generous. And I’m not as big a screw-up as I thought.”  
     “You’re one of his favorites, y’know.” He taps an egg on the countertop and cautiously digs his thumbs into the shell to slit it apart and preserve the sacred, sunny yolk within. “Not much you can do to really drive him off so far.”  
     “Even be dumb enough to get roofied and felt up by some jerk in a bar that let me babble about comics for ages so he could get in my pants and use something I cherish against me?” His head hangs, dejected, as he trails off.  
     Abe sighs and the egg begins to hiss to life as he toddles over to Lucas, sizing him up for a few seconds and then reaching over to sharply flick his ear. PWIP. “Shaddup with that.”  
     Lucas doubles over into a cringe and cups his ear. “Agh! What was that for?!” His tone loses a little humor but he plods on with hopes of preserving whatever good impression he’s managed for himself. “That was kind of egg-scruciating.” He seethes softly as Abe lumbers back to his post and opens the bag of bread.  
     “Some shmuck drugs you and you’re deciding to blame yourself? THAT’s the dumb part. Look. Eating expired takeout? Dumb. Driving drunk? DUMB. Having faith in a guy who goes out of his way to make you think he’s up to nothing and happens to be good at it? Unfortunate, but not your fault. You hear me in there? Now stop with the ‘dumb’ business. The important part is you’re safe and Henry enjoys you. So shoosh. One egg or two? Oywaitwho’m I kidding. You’re as heavy as a truck. Two.”  
      “I’m heavy?”  
     “You were all dead weight. It was like trying to carry a moose. But we’re tough old farts. We managed.”  
     “Oh. I’m sorry… I was so much work.”  
     “Meh. Friend of Henry’s is a friend of mine. No problem.”  
     A sudden, twinge of panic nips at him while his hands fiddle idly in his lap. “Did I do… or say… anything embarrassing? Last night? As opposed... to... every other time I say anything ever?”  
     “You were a limp noodle. You never made a peep.”  
     “Oh. Good. Good.”  
     “Well… there was the part at about two thirty where you started singing Henry “At Last” by Etta James. You have a lovely falsetto by the way. A bit out of place with Etta but those are some high notes for a growing boy like you.”  
     He was already only faintly relaxed but at that he goes stiff as a board. “I-I did WHAT?!”  
     “Oh, Abraham, don’t torture the poor thing. He’s been through Hell.” Calls Henry from the hall with a leather satchel in tow. “You were, as he stated so… eloquently… entirely unconscious from beginning to end. If you have serenaded me it was entirely without my knowledge.” He fishes out a stethoscope of a somewhat dated-looking design and presses the chilly flat end to Lucas’ chest. “Breathe in for me. Deeply, please.”  
     Lucas spies his reflection in the sheen of a curio cabinet full of old cameras and makes note of an offending tuft from the unruly spiral cowlick at the crown of his head. He takes the deepest breath he can while attempting a slick preen under-the-radar.  
     “There are worse things than tousled Davenport hair. Deeper, if you please.” Alas, said radar is terribly astute.  
     [Dang.]  
     The stethoscope dish scoots along his ribcage beneath the pectoral muscle and he complies but his eyes dart to his reflection once more as the chill from the dish seeps through the fabric of his tee and makes its presence known against his skin. “Are… you sure this is necessary?”  
     “On the contrary. Your pulse is abnormally high.”  
     “You think?!” he squawks, then clears his throat. [Smooth.]  
     “Well… you WERE dragged into admittedly unsavory circumstances and wore up with a start in a strange place and now your mind is properly processing things for the first time since the events in question occurred. Waking up after a traumatic event drops you into unconsciousness can ruffle one’s feathers considerably, believe me, but I shall have to check again later when you’ve had a chance to better clear your mind.”  
     “Uh… yeah. That sounds less scare-the-crap-out-of-the-handsome-sidekick.”  
     Abe nudges an egg onto its backside. “I thought I was the handsome sidekick.”  
     “A man can have more than one.” Henry snickers.  
     “Quality over quantity.” Retorts Abe as he prods the egg’s softer spots with his spatula.  
     “Which is why I stopped with the both of you, naturally.” The stethoscope winds downward into the satchel as it clicks closed. “In any case, once we’ve got you fed, we’ll deliver you home and you can enjoy some peace, perhaps a bath to relax yourself, and a nice nap.”  
     “Yeah. Just what I want right now. More sleep.”  
     Abe chuckles as egg one of two slides neatly onto a plate. “The sarcasm is strong with this one.”  
     “I can see his point.”  
     Off in the den the telephone peeps for attention and Henry heads off with a nod and a gentle smile. “Please, excuse me. With any luck it’s Lieutenant Reece asking us for money to bail out Jo.”  
     Abe pipes up again as the contents of the other egg slink out through the crack in the shell. “Worthwhile expenditure if you ask me.”  
     The returning sharpness in his vision brings Lucas some comfort and he speaks with more confidence while rising to his feet and arching back for a mighty, full-body stretch. “I’m sure she’d get an employee discount.”  
     “I never thought of that.” With that Abe turns back at the waist to make eye contact with Lucas above the frames of his eyeglasses. “That’s an egg-celent question.”  
     Lucas’ stretch crumples midway with a chuckle.  
     “Theeere it is. Atta boy.”  
     Back in the den Henry’s generally calm voice comes as an enthralled hiss. “You’re KIDDING.”  
     “They set it at one mil?” Asks Abe.  
     “I’ve seen Jo punch. It’s probably higher.”  
     “That monster.” Henry grits. “If we hadn’t been there he could have-… yes. Yes, I’ll be right in. No… he ought to be made aware of things. The truth will out in either case. Best to keep abreast of it all from the beginning. Yes. Yes. We shall be in shortly. Yes. Goodbye.”  
     “Uhm… Henry?” Lucas calls while timidly heading down the hall and leaning into the doorframe. The den is similar to the living room with its décor but the window blinds have been opened to let in the sunlight, silhouetting stubbly cheeks and hand-knitted sweater Henry had managed to change into as he spirited off to freshen up. The sheen of the desk’s smooth mahogany surface sets Henry alight with a soft and comforting glow despite the worry tugging at his handsomely set features.  
     “Lucas…” The phone is rested into its cradle and Henry’s dark eyes find Lucas’ with unmasked concern and a setting jaw. “It seems you escaped more than we had imagined last night. They have requested our presence at the station.”  
     “I have the distinct impression it’s not for tea and cakes.”  
     “Nothing so sweet, I'm afraid.”

\- - - - -

     “Andrew Wilhelm. Thirty-two years of age, originally from Brooklyn. No recorded criminal history per se but a hefty psychological profile from previous employers, professors from his brief stint at Brown where he pursued a degree in Architecture, and a psychologist his parents took him to when he was seventeen.” Hanson begins. The stranger’s mug shot on the projector wall shows neither remorse nor concern as he leers with notable bravado from above his nameplate. The psych files flank his mug shot and number nearly a dozen as Lieutenant Reece, Henry and Lucas look on. Hanson pauses briefly and looks to Lucas.  
     “Here’s the part where you tell me how much of the truth you can bear to see proof of.”  
     Henry steps in with concerned hands resting lightly onto Lucas’ biceps, glancing down at the “Capone Tax and Accounting Services” logo on his tee shirt, then up to his face. He wants so badly to keep that humor and lively spirit intact in his compatriot but he knows that a man should not be shielded from truth that will come his way eventually. “We face the leavings of the worst violence and goriest altercations a city of millions has to offer every day, Lucas, but I tell you this now. If you opt out of viewing what we are about to see, you are no less a man in my eyes and no one worth their salt will judge you for it. But if you overstep your own boundaries you must be honest with us if you are adversely affected. Make me this promise.”  
     Lucas’ head tilts and he pats one of Henry’s hands with a dipped nod of his head. “You got it, Dr. Morgan. You said it yourself. I see it every day.”  
     “Be that as it may none of it was a direct threat to YOU before. Do NOT let your pride override your common judgment. Promise me.”  
     “Ah… I…” [Wow. His eyes are huge right now. And kind of amazing. There’s little green flecks in there. His eyes are… really pretty.] “I… promise.”  
     “That’s twice you’ve promised. You cannot break this vow to me.”  
     Genuinely touched by the concern, he seems to melt faintly. “Doc. I’ve… never seen you this worried over me.”  
     “Well, if you cause yourself any undue psychological duress you can hardly be counted upon for unbiased and reliable work in the lab when confronted with the gore and grime of our work, now, can you?” He replies dryly. He gives Lucas’ arms a last squeeze and then stands to his side, hands clasped before himself and nodding for Hanson to proceed. Lieu shifts in her chair, and the projector screen is overcome with a large, crisp image of a waxy, yellow corpse, bound with sharp wire that has sliced into the drained flesh of the victim’s limbs. He is young, slender, filthy with bruises and ruthless lacerations through the thin layer of subcutaneous fat and deep into his muscle, and a blindfold slipping along his bony, emaciated face is saturated in blood that has gone brown with neglect and exposure to the elements. His slack mouth is devoid of teeth, his one exposed eye socket empty. He is half-submerged in the mud, decay and rot of a drainage ditch, and seems to have been there for some time. Lieu and Hanson barely flinch but Henry gulps. His hands clench though he takes care to keep his posture believably loose. Lucas squints, head tilting again as he takes half a step forward. His face has gone white like marble.  
     “The, ah… the cause of death was exsanguination.” Hanson croaks. “The evidence… suggests that only these restraints were done postmortem.”  
     Lucas shakes his head but can’t look away. “Lots of killers… remove the teeth after to avoid identification via dental records.” He says distractedly.  
     “The flesh damage says otherwise. The vic’s fingerprints were distinct and intact. This wasn’t about masking his crime. This was torture, Lucas. Look at him. His back is flayed open like a fish. There’s evidence of healing in most of the wounds. The vic was gone for a month before we found him.”  
     Lucas’ voice starts to crack and his eyes glaze. “How… how many-“  
     “Nine. Nine men just like you met the same end. And that’s just the ones we’ve found so far. They all disappeared from a night out, same as you. From the looks of it he took his time, one by one, and when one finally succumbed he got bored and found another.” Several other similar images take to the screen, each doing a fine job of competing for the most horrifying of the array. Hanson clears his throat and carries on. “He confessed to all of it. With barely any prodding.”  
     “No, he bragged, Hanson.” Lieu finally interjects. “He bragged like the guys with no empathy who started off playing with roadkill for fun. The only remorse that bastard expressed was getting caught before he had his fun with you.”  
     Lucas staggers back several shaky steps, past the hand Henry offers to brace his back, then swivels around and wordlessly makes long and frantic strides along the hall. Henry ducks his head toward the others to excuse himself and follows behind. He works on the assumption that his assistant might be headed to his desk for solitude or the exit for some fresh air, but as he pauses in a branch-off of the halls it’s the sound of throaty wretching in the nearby restroom that knocks the breath from him and clamps the strength from his heart. Well, there goes Abraham's egg-cellent breakfast. “Oh… Lucas. No. Sweet boy. No.” He shoulders the swing-door open and finds the stall whose user was in too much of a hurry to lock the door behind him, then leans against the wall and slides along the tile to his haunches. “Lucas. I want you to know that I’m right here. Please, by all means, take all of the time you need and come out only when you feel you can.”  
     “I ALMOST DIED IN A DITCH!” He gargles through a stifled heave, clutching at the bowl and choking through a sob.  
     “Well technically they seem to have expired in his residence and been left innnnnnnevermind, that is entirely irrelevant. The point is… you are here. No ditch, no bleeding. You are whole and breathing and largely unharmed. And…” His voice lowers as he turns around on his rear and backs against the beam between stalls. “Surrounded by people whose lives would be utterly devastated in the event of any real harm befalling you.”  
     “He didn’t just kill them! He… he… he VIOLATED THEM!” He sniffles in deeply and tries to blow his nose. “He tore them apart to hear them scream and he-… ripped out…” His gag reflex steals his words and he lunges into the bowl again. The main door creaks open so that Hanson can peek in and Henry pre-emptively shushes him.  
     “WATER.” He mouths. “GO. Go go go.” He adds silently with a shooing motion and Hanson disappears from view with a little salute. “Lucas. I’m opening the door.”  
     His announcement is met with a frantic gurgle. “No! I don’t want you seeing me like this.”  
     “Oh, hush. Do you think this is the first time I have been exposed to vomit? Hardly. This may come as a shock but I’ve been around the proverbial block a few times. I’m just grateful your hair is too short to have to hold back. Here I come.” He tugs the door open and keeps himself at a polite distance while rubbing Lucas’ shivering back. “You take all the time you need. This is indeed a horrifying turn of events but you must keep in mind your good fortunes. You are in fine health, and here with us, safe and sound. To wit, we have that monster in our building and we will make sure he can never EVER hurt anyone again. That is our focus now. Justice for the victims… and peace of mind for you. We must be their voice, Lucas. No one deserves such an end and we are ensuring that their last impressions upon the world are those of victims being given back the humanity and dignity their murderer tried so viciously to strip from them. We will be his undoing and their final peace.”  
     A glass of water materializes in the air near Henry’s right shoulder and he takes it with a grateful nod to excuse Hanson after his good service. “Can you drink? I have a glass of water for you.”  
     “I’ll try.” First, another round of nose blowing, self-conscious face wiping and eye dabbing. “I’m sorry. I’m supremely gross right now.”  
     “Luckily you have been just endearing enough in our other interactions that the balance of the universe is thus far unharmed.”  
     “You’re hitting your quota of good-natured lying to spare me. I appreciate it.”  
     “It’s one of my lesser-known talents. Now, drink.”  
     He does as he’s been told and empties the glass, then wipes his mouth. “I bet the great Henry Morgan never blew chunks at the sight of a corpse.”  
     “I’m unsure which other Great Henry Morgan you’ve met but if you’re referring to me you’re quite mistaken. The first time I experienced the crimes of Jack the Ripper when I was a beginner in the field… now that was a jarring night. I lost weeks of sleep.”  
     “Yeah, but he wasn’t trying to go after YOU. Personally. You ever feel Jack the Ripper’s hands on your throat?! He's been dead for a century or two so you have a little less to worry about.”  
     Henry’s chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “In that matter your struggle is unique. I agree. But in time, many in our line of work become targets, be it revenge, rage or simply unfortunate coincidence. But I make you this promise. We are all by your side. When you have lost your strength and cannot stand because the weight of your own fears crushes you… we will be by your side waiting to take your hand and lift you back to your feet. If needed, we will even carry you. Goodness knows some of us already have.”  
     “I heard I was pretty heavy.”  
     “It was only the weight of your boundless charms, I’m certain.” He offers a reassuring squeeze of Lucas’ shoulder.  
     “Henry.” Uncharacteristic clarity and stern focus take over his voice and both of Henry’s hands are clasped into Lucas’ grip. A rare moment of deliberate and unyielding eye contact follows. “You saved… my life. I would be DEAD without you. I would be… violated… a-and mutilated… and dead. You saved my life.” With that he releases the doctor’s hands and constricts him in a snug embrace in the cramped stall. There is a wordless moment of obliging and understanding and Lucas’ body tenses considerably as his fingers curl and grip at Henry’s shirt. At last he convulses into sobs. All Henry can do is hold him in return and he dutifully does so despite his initial reservations about Lucas invading his ever-diminishing personal bubble. As painful as they are, moments like this tug him back from the brink of the numbness that comes from his exclusively peculiar and static place in the cosmos.  
     “And I am so very glad I was there in time.” 


	3. Fray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonds waver, solidify and strengthen. The sands shift.

     Off in the conference room Hanson and Martinez discuss the implications of Lucas’ involvement with the case while Lucas himself stares down at a blank sheet of notebook paper and the seemingly innocuous pencil provided with it. On their own they’re the potential for doodles, grocery lists and maybe a dirty limerick but this time it’s different. Somewhere in that stick of graphite and wood lies the statement he has to relive and dictate in order to ensure his assailant’s guilt. It’s a pivotal part of their case against him, of course, and Lucas is well aware, but his arms are suddenly so very heavy as he stares. As he watches the pencil, or rather gazes through it, Henry watches him through the one-way glass with clasped hands and a heavy heart.  
     [They’ve already got the monster behind bars. Must Lucas really be forced to make his statement? We caught him in the act. Surely they have enough evidence to link Wilhelm to the other murders.] He clamps his eyes shut and wipes his palm along his face. [Now, now. I mustn’t allow semantics to cloud the pursuit of justice. Yes, the process will hurt him, but we cannot allow one more person to feel that animal’s wickedness ever again.] His eyes catch the purpling rows of teeth marks on Lucas’ neck and his own teeth grit. [I have heard countless tales of the brutality in prisons… this may be the first time in my lives that I have ever hoped them to be true.]  
     “It hurts to see him like that, doesn’t it?” Reece asks gently while approaching Henry’s side. In the room, Jo has noticed Lucas’ apprehensions and has placed her hand on his wrist, rubbing in little strokes with her thumb. In the field she is grace and poise and ferocity itself but in this room she seems to have holstered her defenses and she speaks like the welcome warmth of a fireplace on frigid hands. “Wahl might be a little weird but it only hurts more.”  
     “Because you know him intimately enough to be acquainted with his eccentricities. His quirks.” Henry nods. “He is also the youngest among us and it’s like watching your little cousin or son. You wish you could manifest their pain into your own heart and spare them from it.”  
     “Nice to see you’re not as prickly as you seem. You’re a raging introvert from what I can see.”  
     “Now, introversion or no, that does nothing to diminish my fondness for those I trust and with whom I share my life. I simply better thrive in places of solitude and introspection. And… when any physical affection is on my terms.” He fondly recalls Lucas’ repeated insistence on showing his appreciation like the tightening grip of a python, and even he has to admit to the charm of someone who knows your preferences but is so excited to show their affection that the concern of propriety sort of falls into the background. It has begun, if only slightly to grow on him, not unlike a moss that grows uninvited on the wizened stones of a cathedral but lends character as it does. “I assure you that it in no way reflects a lack of enjoyment of anyone’s company here. If I did not like being around you I surely would have left long ago. I dare say you motley lot are a sort of second family to me, with all we’ve been through. And, in the fashion of a true family we must all comfort and support Lucas in such a devastating ti-…”  
     As if to emphasize his point Lucas’ shoulders hunch and the pencil wavers in his fingers. His head shakes briskly back and forth and Hanson gets to his feet, offering a cautious squeeze of his shoulders. “Hey, Bud. I know it sucks. Would it be easier to record it instead? You can just… vent?”  
     “YEAH. Uh-… please.” He sniffles in a deep nod. Hanson thumps his back with the firm hand of a brother or friend making sure not to treat him as frail.  
     “You got it, man. I’ll be right back.” With that he heads out in search of a recorder and Jo keeps a steady hold on Lucas’ hand. With a resigned half-smile she tilts her head and rests it onto Lucas’ shoulder.  
     “We’ve got you. We’re all right here.” She adds as Lucas timidly leans his head against hers.  
     “I am impressed with our team’s reactions with all of this.” Henry hums. “Lieutenant.”  
     “Hm?”  
     “You have done well to find such good people in the service of defending this city. It’s an honor to work by their sides.”  
     “It’ll be that much sweeter when we see that bastard hang. You mess with one bean, you mess with the whole burrito.”  
     “I don’t believe I’ve heard that analogy before.” Henry replies with a rising eyebrow. “It’s… quaint.”  
     Reece blinks her wonderfully unimpressed slow blink.  
     “Good quaint.”  
     “Mmmhmm.”  
     The finely etched lines that betray the faint beginnings of aging in Henry’s skin deepen with contemplation. “It is truly unsettling to see the merriest and least affected of us in this department being taken to such a dark place. Right now, that beast’s honeyed words and kind gestures are flashing in poor Lucas’ eyes over and over, and his mind is running away with itself pondering what he could have been faced with, had we not been there. He’s re-imagining those gruesome images with his own shrieks escaping his own presumably tortured mouth at the hands of that… twisted wretch.” Without his knowledge his words become steadily bitter and tinged with more and more bile as they come forth.  
     “If I didn’t know better I would say you have some personal investment in this yourself, Dr. Morgan.”  
     “If my years of travel and experience have taught me anything, it’s that innocence and joy ought to be preserved at all opportunities and those who would destroy it are among the most wicked. Lucas may march to the beat of a different drummer, if not an entirely different band, radio station and genre at minimum, but his oddness is something to cherish. It’s a reminder of humanity’s more abstract functions. Mother Nature invented survivalist greed, death and murder and every species has enjoyed them since the dawn of time, but humans exclusively invented techno music and comic books.” He recalls one of Lucas’ earlier diatribes and corrects himself. “Er, graphic novels.”  
     Hanson returns with his recorder and the two slowly sit erect again. Lucas does his best to recall the night’s events and to his credit his voice breaks only once, during his efforts to describe the moments of blacking out.  
     “Take your time.” Jo says softly. She’s had her hand on his back the entire time but has only rubbed when he began to falter or pause.  
     “The moment… I felt my stomach shift like I was in an elevator. I think… I was falling.” His head tilts up and he squints somewhere near the corner where the ceiling meets the wall. “I saw… I saw a chain.”  
     Jo attempts to lead him into elaboration. “A chain?”  
     “It was swinging… gold chain.”  
     “Henry’s watch chain.” She replies. “Hanson, Lieu and I went after the perp. Henry stopped the guy and caught you. He stayed with you and took you home with him.”  
     “Yeah. I… woke up on his floor.”  
     “You know…” Her neatly sculpted eyebrow arches. “While we were cuffing and stuffing that jerkoff, Henry had you in his arms like a baby. He wasn’t just propping you up… he was keeping you safe. He had your face tucked into his chest to hide your eyes, he was stroking your hair, talking to you… he knew for a fact you were out like a light, but he stayed there to tell you that you were okay. He could have just sat down next to you… but he didn’t. Henry’s never mentioned having kids and you’re not much younger than him, but right there, he was in dad mode. I’ve never seen him like that.”  
     Henry gulps, inwardly snarling against the urge to wring his hands. Meanwhile, Reece’s eyes have been sizing him up. “She’s right, you know. I only caught bits and pieces of it while I was holding back from losing half of my favorite pair of shoes up that guy’s ass, but you were good out there. I always figured you were too much of a priss for that stuff but I’ve got to hand it to you. If Lucas could have heard you… he’d have been amazed at how caring you were with him. Considering you run him ragged at the lab, make him play victim in your re-enactments over and over, and barely let him use your first name. You finally gonna cut that boy a little slack?”  
     “That MAN…” he replies, “Doesn’t need slack. He has risen spectacularly to every occasion as he will surely rise to this. And when we see that wretch put away for his crimes Lucas will walk with his head a little higher knowing he helped end a spree of evil in its truest sense.”  
     Both remain quiet for the remainder of the discussion as they watch until, finally, Lucas gives a cleansing sigh and cracks his neck. They exchange finalities and salutations as they rise to their feet and leave the room. Hanson makes his way to his desk to dictate the recording and Jo, after a quick hug and an unnecessary but sweet fuss over a stray lock of his hair, heads to her own desk to continue the case. Reece nods toward Henry and makes her way past him, leaving him in the unnerving echo of his own thoughts. Lucas hovers at the coffee station but doesn’t bother making himself a cup; he mostly just stands there to look busy as his hands nestle into his pockets. Henry sucks his lips between his teeth and releases, then heads over.  
     “Lucas.” He offers softly. Lucas peers back over his shoulder with several fluttered blinks and looks almost sleepy until he recognizes Henry. His eyes widen with a subtle half-grin and the rest of his body swivels around to face the doctor. His posture seems different now. Lighter.  
     “It seems that release has lifted a burden from you. I see you gave your statement for the case.”  
     “I did.” Lucas replies with a dipped nod. “And I assume you heard.”  
     “Indeed I did. All the better to perform my duties and do your case justice.”  
     After that, Lucas says nothing. A dozen notions seem to battle it out behind his lips but nothing comes for a few obliging seconds as they both rifle through their respective mental filing cabinets second by second to try and remember what part of Dude Protocol they need to whip out in order to avoid awkwardness. They bob their heads a little, sway a bit on their feet and Henry reaches halfway to do something like patting Lucas’ arm or nudging him with a stiff, playful fist and neither seems right once his hand has already left his pocket so he settles for itching his nose. Finally it’s Lucas that breaks the rising tension with what seems to be a carefully stifled little chuckle. His eyes reflect an unrealized smile. “Doc.”  
     Henry has taken to glancing at his shoes until Lucas’ familiar call catches him. At last, someone has taken the reigns and it isn’t him. He has grown gradually less competent with these sorts of interactions and he would have just bungled it anyhow. Dark, bittersweet 80% cacao with organic green tea flecks meets no-fuss sweet milk chocolate and caramel. “Yes?” Lucas needs him now and he leans closer to prove his interest in whatever intensely personal revelation may come.  
     Lucas finally gives in to an earnest, coy little smirk. “You took care of me.”  
     “Well, what was the alternative? To let that gifted mind dribble out your ears as your head hits the sidewalk? That would hardly benefit anyone.”  
     “You hugged me.” Lucas hums.  
     “I propped you up out of the gutter.” Henry rumbles back.  
     “You held me in your arms.”  
     “I kept you from toppling over and further injuring yourself while unconscious, and in case you began to react adversely to the drugs and vomit. There was a celebrated comedic actor, John Belushi, who cut his career short by asphyxiating on his own vomit after a drug bender and choking to death. You deserve far more noble a death after many more years of doing what you do so wel-… just what are you smirking at?!” Lucas’ gaze has become almost mirthful.  
     “You cared for me, Henry.”  
     “From the standpoint of a professional who greatly values his colleague I am certainly guilty, yes. But if you dare insinuate for a moment that I’ve gone soft on you-… ” He has even brought out the wagging finger. He’s gotten serious now.  
     One of Lucas’ slim hands finds his shoulder and squeezes lightly. “First name basis. Starting now. I win.”  
     Henry’s eyes roll. “Well, perhaps as of now we’ve worked together long enough that you’ve earned a modicum of- where are you headed? It’s in very poor taste to walk off while someone is still talking!”  
     “Well… Henry…” It seems slightly labored for him to speak the doctor’s name in a professional setting but he has made his stand and he’s sticking with it. “I lost my breakfast so I need to find another one. You wanna come with me? I can’t work on an empty stomach.”  
     Henry looks downright affronted. “You can’t rightly work after all of that.”  
     “Hey. Someone has to put the nail in that guy’s coffin. Don’t’chu think I deserve to be the one swinging the hammer?”  
     At that Henry concedes and loosens up. Sort of. He’s still Henry. “Provided you let me bring the nails. May I suggest Ben’s Chili Bowl? My treat.” He heads over to close the gap between them.  
     “You don’t do fingerfood.” His brows furrow. “Do… you?”  
     “I can be convinced.”  
     “But chili dogs are a lunch thing.”  
     “And unless that large clock and this pocket watch…” Which he pulls from his pocket and opens with a suave flick, “are both in a conspiracy to speed up and fiddle with us, it’s past noon.”  
     “Would you do a sit-down? Moon’s Café makes killer Eggs Bennie.”  
     “Is that code for something?”  
     “Eggs Benedict. The… the poached eggs with the ham? And the… Hollandaise stuff?” He pantomimes drizzling sauce on an imaginary plate and it seems to jog Henry’s mind well enough.  
     “Ah. I was unsure of your colloquialism. Excuse me. If you can stomach eggs after experiencing them both coming and going once already, I will certainly accompany you. On one condition.”  
     “Hm?”  
     “Do NOT, under any circumstance, reveal to Abraham the fate of his cooking. He was rather proud of how well those eggs turned out.”  
     Lucas gives an obliging nod. “Mum’s the word. Your secret’s safe with me. Both of ‘em.” He turns toward the elevator and Henry slows in his wake with a tilt of his head, eyes bulging with dread.  
     [Both of them?! Oh, no. NO, no no. How could he possibly-]  
     Lucas presses the button and looks up to gauge his wait time by the lit numbers above. “No one will know that under all that protocol and procedure you actually care about me.”  
     [OH. Good. Yes. Well, then. Crisis averted.] “I… appreciate the cloak and dagger, Lucas. Deeply.”  
     The elevator dings as the car reaches them and the doors open. “Yeah, thought you might.”

\- - - - -

     Once they've been seated and food has arrived, Lucas seems to be in increasingly stabilizing spirits, chatting about whatever has flitted into his mind while Henry is quite content to let him. What he needs right now is normalcy and a sympathetic ear. To wit, the Eggs Benedict are rather good and it's not remotely a chore to savor them. Lucas has nearly finished his massive omelet (or rather, a compost heap wrapped in egg) and drains the last of his coffee to wash it down and speak. “I always wondered... why DID you get huffy about me calling you Henry? The first time. In your office, I mean.”  
     Henry's eyes close for a long blink. “I never have objected to you using my name, really.”  
     “Yeah, I would think not. Everyone else gets to so... why not me?”  
     Lucas' eyes have darkened like coffee devoid of cream and Henry licks his lips.  
     “No one ever bothered addressing me as “Doctor” and staying with it but you.”  
     “So you just let me keep on keeping on then, huh?”  
     “I suppose so.”  
     “So answer my question. Why did I get different treatment?” He takes his last bite and gulps it down and, while Henry is trying to summon a reply, he pipes back up with a tone that grows more grave as it comes. “Come to think of it, there's a lot of Why Me going on here.”  
     “How so?”  
     “Look, I know I'm your assistant but you make me do a LOT of stuff the other assistants don't have to. All the other M.E.s clean and sharpen their own tools. And I get that you're method. Film buff. I appreciate that. But you're always making me your victim when we re-enact.” Without realizing it, his cheeks have grown a bit pink and his feathers seem truly ruffled, meaning Henry is in for another bout of listening. This one, however, seems a long time coming. “You barely acknowledged me doing a good job until I almost died. I keep your files in impeccable order, the lab is always spotless, I'm constantly in overtime to make sure things go smoothly, I make coffee runs for you, I've got all of your goofy little quirks to take into consideration and for all of that... for how often I bust my ASS, you only compliment me when I've gotten you back on track to claim another amazing revelation and get credit for tying up every case. And I could put up with all of that... ALL of it...” He now has begun to gesture widely, cheeks red and eyes gleaming with near tears. “If you didn't treat me like some kind of puppy you don't want but can't bring yourself to give away. I tell you anything about myself... that interests me or has to do with my past, or even try to do something that proves I could ever do what you do... and your eyes glaze over while you think of whatever minimalist speck of acknowledgment you can offer to get me to finish faster and stop wasting your precious time. Meanwhile we all have to cater to your every stupid whim because you're so smart and such a good M.E., and we can't afford to derail your precious stupid process.” Now he's reached the most dangerous part of his sermon, where he has begun to whisper lowly, hands laced on the table. “I was offered a paid internship at Johns-Hopkins to get into their physician program. I was gonna turn it down because I liked it at the precinct but lately I'm getting the feeling that you lied when you said my being gone would be noticed.” He hisses.  
     Henry is clearly taken aback by what he can only hope has been an unplanned release of pressure unknowingly built up. He's heard dozens of these lectures about keeping people at bay to spare them and every single time, they misunderstand his aims and assume him to be some kind of callous degenerate. “Everything we have all done for you in this incident means nothing, then.” He replies simply. “Didn't this all start because you were picking on me about caring too much for you?”  
     “After years of being a static, immovable douche.”  
     “But nevertheless I showed concern for your well-being and kept you safe.”  
     “Only because I almost got raped. That wouldn't look good on the Great Henry Morgan's file, now, would it?”  
     Now it's Henry's turn to get flustered. “You think I only did that as an act of self-preservation? Cradling you, supporting your head, taking you to my own home, making sure your vital signs showed good health, having a homemade breakfast provided for you? Stopping you from seeing those grisly crime scene photographs out of concern for your psyche? That was all to cover my own reputation, was it?”  
     A few feet away, their waitress moves to take their plates but sees their heated, snarling exchange and decides that her efforts are more needed elsewhere. Urgently.  
     “You only gave a damn because I almost died.”  
     “BOLLOCKS.” Henry grits, panting through his nose. “There are issues beyond my control that keep me from getting so chummy with you all. They reflect nothing ill about any of you yourselves.”  
     “What about Jo? You seem like you get along well with her. Or is that only because you have a shot with her?”  
     “Lucas, she is a grieving widow. You have no right to insinuate such a thing. Especially to a man still bemoaning the loss of his own wife!”  
     Lucas' ears pin back and he sinks against the seat back in silence. Humility washes over him as Henry seems to have struck some sort of nerve and they both pause for several seconds before the doctor resumes.  
     “We are bonding over our shared losses and helping one another heal but I see her as nothing but an esteemed colleague. Now, I'm sorry if I don't respond favorably to your little asides about zombies and Indiana Jones, but just because I have little to no understanding of those things does not mean I do not enjoy you as a person. We just have very, very little in common. But everything I did for you last night and today, I would do time and time again and don't you dare insinuate for a moment that I would do otherwise. Disparate though our differences may be, you are in my lab under my care and I will guard you with my life if I must.” He takes a pull of his coffee and relaxes a bit himself. “I only keep you at arm's length because of bigger things afoot.”  
     “You're not the only one keeping secrets.”  
     “I know that. Acutely. Like that the growing callouses on your fingers, easy to conceal when constantly in nitrile gloves, betray your playing of the violin. They're fairly new so you're too sheepish to bring it up because you're afraid that you aren't good enough to warrant mention.”  
     Lucas flushes hotly at that. Busted.  
     “I... admit that I have been unnecessarily callous in our interactions at times and for that I am truly sorry. This event has shaken our little snowglobe and now we must right ourselves as things settle again. I do not share your pop-culture zeal, but when you speak of something that truly empassions you, the way you come to life and light up are so very charming and I hope nothing in the world ever beats that out of you. Now... after all this, I would be remiss not to answer your original question, wouldn't I?”  
     “Please.” Lucas whispers, now quite hushed.  
     “It's not... that you aren't permitted to call me Henry. When Detective Hanson calls me “Doc”, it's almost sarcastic, as if he's giving me a good-natured tease about whether someone so odd as myself could ever actually practice medicine. But from you it seems to genuinely be a sign of respect. You care for my tools and do so much of my work because, frankly, I trust no one else with it and I can work so much more efficiently because of all that you do. If you did elect to leave for Johns-Hopkins... I wouldn't be able to write you a letter of recommendation, however.”  
     Lucas bolts back up, instantly incensed. “Why not?!” He's conjuring several nasty words involving human anatomy and something along the lines of being petty but Henry raises a gentle hand.  
     “Because I frankly cannot do what I do without you.”  
     The cloud of bile dissipates from between Lucas' ears and he seems placated, if only for the moment.  
     “Lucas... it's not that you're not allowed to call me Henry. It's... because no one evokes the same charm you do when you call me Doc.”  
     At that, Lucas is once and for all muted, responding only with a feeble nod as he blinks away the previously welling tears while staring at his lap.  
     “Was I right about the violin?”  
     “Few weeks.” He mumbles.  
     “It's a beautiful instrument. A favorite of mine.” They putter for a moment. “I play piano. If ever you want some guidance, I would never judge your mistakes as we correct them together. May I ask what made you pick it up?”  
     There's no use in trying to mask the embarrassing truth any longer so he comes clean. “Trying to impress someone I like.”  
     “Tsk. You ought to play it for yourself. For the beauty of it. If your sweetheart is at all keen on you, you shouldn't have to do anything so demanding to impress them. And if they don't share your affections, playing an instrument won't suddenly make them want you.”  
     “I know. I... it just seemed like something good to try.” He sniffles deeply and sits back upright. “Sounds kind of stupid, huh?”  
     “Never. Love is never, ever stupid. What it often inspires, on the other hand...”  
     “Like hurting your hands playing an instrument because you have a thing for someone?”  
     “Not stupid. In fact... very sweet. She's quite lucky to have won someone like you. Now here's hoping she's not the stupid one and she shares your affections.”  
     “We... ah... we'll see.”  
     The skittish waitress tries her luck and things go much more smoothly than they would have earlier as she brings the check. “Are you still planning on going back to work?” Henry inquires.  
     “I think I might go home, now that I think about it. Bath does sound nice.”  
     “There we are. Make some tea, surround yourself in your creature comforts, dwell on your good fortunes. Then come back.”  
     “Something like that.”  
     Once outside, Henry takes a deep breath and takes in the sight of fresh rain clouds being parted by brilliant sun, walking after Lucas. “Which way is your bus stop?”  
     “Uh... just this corner here. Why?”  
     “Curiosity. Would you like me to wait with you?”  
     “I mean, if you want. You're a busy guy, though. You... go do... Henry stuff. What is it that you do in your downtime anyway?” He says with a squint.  
     “Oh, the usual... vivisect innocent creatures in my horrifying laboratory filled with gruesome oddities and hideous torture devices. I really am as awful as they say.”  
     “You had me at “horrifying lab”. Can I see?”  
“That was meant to scare you off-... oh, right, Horror film aficionado.”  
     “And writer. And director. And producer. And still working in the lab so that speaks for my success.” he says glumly.  
     “What was your favorite story?”  
     “A buddy made this great creature with a thousand eyeballs that was supposed to rampage this little Puritan township. S'posed to reflect the irony of all of the townspeople constantly watching each other and looking for excuses to rat each other out to look more pious than everyone else and how, in the end, it didn't help anybody because they all went out the same way.” With that he digs a fist into his palm and makes a crude raspberry sound to indicate something being squashed.  
     “While not my cup of tea, the premise is, indeed, intriguing.” Henry relents, looking in a sideways glance to measure Lucas' reaction at his earnest attempt to soften up a bit.  
     “Right? And he did such a good job sculpting the maquette. It was gorgeous. And then...”  
     At the end of the next block a bus takes on passengers, then heads their way. “Then what?”  
     “The janitor knocked the maquette over with his broom one night after class and completely mashed it. Just... destroyed it. Shattered glass and pulverized clay everywhere. And I had a week left to film the last few scenes of the project. The professor felt bad for me and gave me a passing grade since he liked the footage I DID have.”  
     The bus stops with a hiss of the brake pressure and as Lucas begins to board, something snaps in Henry and he leaps a step forward under almost no control of his own. “Lucas.”  
     “Yeah?” There's a bat of wide, brown eyes still gleaming from earlier and the charming sway of his scarf in the faint breeze as he hangs back out of the door frame with a soft smile.  
     Henry seems momentarily distracted, blinks, and gapes for a moment before collecting himself. “I... Good bye, Lucas. Safe travels.”  
     The same breeze that plays with his scarf sets a few strands of sandy blond hair loose in his gaze and his smile widens to a more honest show of cautious optimism. “Yeah. Get back safe yourself. If you get snatched up, there's no way I can do all that lab work with Washington.”  
     With that Henry pats the grubby side panel of the bus and heads away to return to the precinct with even more zeal than before. There's a fire in him as he fills out form after form and processes every last speck of anything of use, and even without his lanky shadow by his side he makes great progress. The ride home would be too brisk under normal circumstances but he's had another reminder of the frailty of things, and glides to a stop with cherry-red cheeks and nose in front of the antiques shop. His lungs burn but every so often, it's nice to be reminded that they can. Even dinner, which is generally excellent thanks to Abe's zest for life and decades-honed palate, somehow crackles and blossoms in an even more lively and thrilling way.  
That night, the two make merry at the piano and Abe has caught onto an unusual sparkle in Henry's eye. Henry won't admit that anything has changed, of course, because he doesn't see for himself that anything has. The old goat never does. But he has also demanded that they play every silly old-fashioned love song they know and hasn't smiled like this in weeks or more. [He must've finally seen Martinez in a skirt.] For now Abe elects to stay the quiet observer and wait out this new-found cheer until he can get to the root of it. He has to know what exactly to tease Henry about, after all.

\- - - - -

     Across town, Lucas' apartment has none of the warmth of a father-son concert at the piano, and all of the rooms are dark and empty. There's no television blaring his usual guilty pleasure programming (which at this hour would be laughable infomercials and re-runs of old sitcoms), no ill-advised processed food doing the radiation ballet in his microwave. For all of its clutter and cacophony, the place is deathly silent with the exception of thready, stifled sniffling. Every room is filled with the grey-blue flood of inactivity ensured by blackout curtains (to avoid sun damage to his collectibles, naturally), save for the tinny glow of a phone screen making a faint orb of light from the corner of the bathroom floor. Behind three locked doors, nestled in his bathtub with two replica katana and a kitchen knife and his phone plugged into the wall socket, a frantic Lucas has spent hours shrinking and flinching at every creak and groan and flicker of activity around himself. He grips the phone with white knuckles as his drawn and pallid face takes contorts in frustration. Eyes that burn from being in a constant state somewhere between brimming tears and barely-dammed sobs peer at the number he's been afraid to dial for half an hour. [Just seven more hours until dawn. Then I chug four Red Bulls, sneak a nap in the lunch room... I'll get twenty five minutes if I eat fast...]  
A stout bang on the front door pulls a yelp form him as the phone hits the floor and he scrambles to grasp one of the unnecessarily large swords he chose over rent a few years before. The phone lands face-down and he's alone in the pitch-black void of his own thoughts, his panting magnified by the tile walls as he huddles into the porcelain basin.  
With no answer to satisfy it the knock repeats.  
     [If someone came for me they wouldn't knock. They'd pick the door or pop the hinges. Maybe it's Jo.] At that he slackens almost entirely. “Or Henry.”  
     He draws in a deep breath to calm himself and rises carefully to his feet with the katana, then pockets his phone in case his mediocre self-defense skills honed from years of kung-fu movies don't somehow miraculously keep him unharmed. Door after door he pads slowly through the apartment until he can finally peer down into the peephole. Jo's massive brown eye peeks back at him and her thick eyelashes bat a few times.  
     “He has no life. He has to be home.”  
     His arms hand limp at his sides and his expression goes flat. “Ouch.” With that he yanks the door open and exposes his dilated, lazy pupils to the burning fluorescent hallway light. “I do too have a li-SHEEZ. OW.”  
     “Yes. It's me. The daywalker.” She snickers, watching him recoil in his dank nerd lair and shield his eyes while sporting only Spiderman pajama pants and some kind of goofy prop sword. Sounds about right. As she examines him further and his arm drops to reveal his exasperated expression and the still-angry bite marks on his throat, she sees a wide swath of scarred tissue along his otherwise flat and predictably pasty-skinned abdomen in puckering ribbons from left to right. It's the kind of old scar that's practically swarming with a dark aura of painful recollection so she opts to bite her tongue and offer up a big plastic bag instead. “I brought Chinese.”  
     “You just came down out of nowhere? To check up on me?”  
     “Hey. You kind of had the worst night ever yesterday. I figured you wanted a better run today.”  
     Uh-oh. Girl in the Dungeon. Act cool. “Uh... yeah. Sure. Come on in. If you like this baby,” He wiggles the sword and lifts it to brace it onto his shoulder, “You'll love the rest of my arsenal. The Hammer of Thor... the Gunblade of Squall Leonhart...”  
     “The Armor of Eternal Virginity?”  
     Back goes the even, unimpressed stare. “I'm only letting you in now because you can shoot.”  
     “I'm only picking on you because you can't.” She drops the bag into his grip and breezes past while he scans the hallway and locks the door behind them.  
     “You know, some girls like a guy who's not super experienced. We don't all judge ourselves by notches in a bedpost.”  
     “Hey, not my fault you keep fumbling your charisma check.”  
     “Wait...” He flicks on the light and gives her a curious stare, starting to smile a bit. “You play D and D?”  
     “No, I read it on a Facebook post.”  
     “Man, salt in the wound. And I'm not a virgin. But that's not the point. The point is...”  
     “Hmm?” She spins back from her surveying glance of being pretty much exactly right in her assumptions of his living space, unwinding her scarf.  
     In reply, he softens and starts to make room on a coffee table piled with gaming manuals and magazines. “That... I'm... glad you're here.”  
     “So... ooh. Dibs on the rice. Anyway, I need to at least ask.” She bravely begins as they both sit.  
     “Four times and none of it was that great on either end so I've been flying this ship solo for a while.”  
     “Wha-... ew. No. All your business. I meant...” She snaps apart a pair of chopsticks and points with them to his belly. “That. Lemme guess. Fierce samurai robot battle on the moon?”  
     “First off, the moon would be a terrible place for a battle. It's flat and powdery and with the lower gravity there would be no oomph in your attacks aaaand I've lost you already.”  
     She does still look amused but she's not buying the diversion. “Scar.”  
     He exhales for a timid few seconds and rakes his hair with a hand, then sets down the sword and clasps his hands between his knees. “You want to know... for real?”  
     “Please.” She pokes open the flaps of the box and gratefully tucks in but keeps her eyes squarely on Lucas.  
     “I was mauled by a bear years ago.”  
     “Wait... mauled.”  
     “Yup.”  
     “By a bear.”  
     “Uh huh.”  
     “In... Ohio?”  
     “No. Well, yes. Kiiindaaa?” He squints and gestures with grasping hands as if trying to literally grab the proper story out of the air. At last, he grabs a box, flicks it open, nods at the noodles inside, and finds his own chopsticks. “It's... a long story.”


End file.
